For Better Or Worse
by babybluecas
Summary: When they first meet, Cas saves Dean from school bullies. Over the years, their friendship only grows stronger.


**September 18th, 1990**

The first time Dean meets Castiel, the bullies are giving him hell.

Dean is a tough boy, not so easily defeated, spent a big chunk of the eleven years of his life fending for himself. He can throw a mean punch and knows when it was better to run.

Right now, he can do neither. The bullies are three older boys. Dean's crime is standing up to them in defense of a nerdy kid, Kevin. He humiliated them in the middle of the cafeteria, got them sent to the principal's office. He is quite proud of himself for that.

But there are no food trays to drop on their heads, there in the alley. No teachers to break them up in time. Dean is on his own, and his own is not doing great.

Two of the boys hold him, arms twisted back so far it feels like the slightest movement could pop them out of the sockets.

The third, meanest one — not for nothing nicknamed Lucifer — is using Dean's face as a punching bag.

Now, Dean can take a beating; knows how to turn to avoid broken ribs, knows the way bruises change colors under his sleeves. But this he's not equipped to deal with; the crack of his nose breaking, the blood flooding his throat, making every hard-won breath a choking hazard.

"Three against one? How very brave of you," comes a low voice from behind Lucifer's back.

Dean never felt this grateful for a random stranger. Never worried for one this much, either. But maybe if the guy distracts them long enough, Dean could manage to wiggle out.

"Keep walking, Castiel, 'less you wanna join," Lucifer hisses, hardly glancing at the boy; shorter than him, shorter even than Dean, yet standing tall and unintimidated.

"I don't think so."

An ugly grin twists Lucifer's face — he waited for the challenge. He turns to the boy and charges, fist first. Castiel dodges the punch masterfully, grabs his arm and uses Lucifer's own momentum to throw him over his shoulder to the ground.

Impressed, Dean has no time to stand and admire. Soon as the slack-jawed minions loosen their hold, Dean pushes forward and slips them. With chances slightly more in their favor, and without much extra damage, the two of them manage to keep the gang busy until some passing adults scare them away.

"Are you okay?"

Castiel's fingers are gentle as they caress Dean's aching face. He got his own deal of injuries; bloody nose, matching Dean's, though probably not broken, and what's sure to become a black eye by morning — the golden prize for helping Dean.

"You saved my life, man."

Dean's savior offers his shoulder to lean on before he even offers his name.

"Let's get you to a hospital."

Something tells Dean he's just found himself a friend for better or worse.

**—**

**March 17th, 1993**

The phone rests in Dean's pocket, as heavy as if it were an actual brick, not an overpriced piece of plastic. He figured Crowley'd buy it off him for a few hundred, hopefully enough to stall the eviction for a little while longer.

Now it looks like Dean's gonna be the one paying for it—with a couple years of his life.

He stares at the tiled floor, while all eyes are on him; the store clerk's, the cop's, but worst of all — Cas's. Dean'd rather be cuffed where he stands and shipped off to Rikers, just to never have to face Cas's disappointment in him.

To be fair, at least some of those things are about to happen.

"Take it out, Winchester," officer Walker repeats, losing his patience.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. He should have gone in and out within minutes, without anyone noticing, definitely without police intervention. He would have pulled it off if it wasn't for Cas following him here to make up after their fight.

There's no use in stalling, Nothing's getting Dean out of this one. With a clenched jaw, he pulls the damned thing out and slaps it into the cop's palm.

"Well, well," Walker says smugly, "now that you've graduated from peanut butter, Winchester, the town might, finally, be rid of you, this time."

He puts the phone down and reaches for his handcuffs with a grin he's not even trying to hide. His hand hovers at his side as Cas steps forward.

"It was me, officer," he says firmly. Dean's eyes widen as they dart to his friend. "I stole the phone."

"Wha—" Dean begins, but Cas cuts him off with a stern glare and the lie he's making up as he goes.

"Then I saw an employee approaching. I panicked and slipped it into Dean's pocket."

Walker's grin gives way to irritation. He doesn't believe Cas, that's obvious. No one who knows Cas would believe his fairytale.

"Are you telling me that between this _delinquent_ and you, Novak, the DA's brother — you're the one who stole the cellphone?"

"Yes—"

"Cas, stop it—"

"Yes," Cas repeats, dropping his eyes to the floor in faux-shame. "I—I was angry at my brother, wanted to piss him off. Michael is…despotic. I tried to rebel. And I failed."

Dean shakes his head, but doesn't try to stop him anymore. He knows where Cas is going with this; a squeaky-clean straight-A student acting up against his strict, lawful guardian—he'll get off with a slap on a wrist and a story to tell to his grandkids. Unlike Dean and his lovely rap sheet would.

Still, he feels like an absolute piece of shit for staying silent and letting his best friend take the heat for him—not for the first time. But he can't go to jail; can't leave Sam alone with dad, especially not now, on the verge of homelessness. So he keeps his mouth shut and nods to every lie Cas says.

"Thank you," Dean whispers to Cas on their way to the station for further questioning.

Cas leans in to reply, "Next time, don't be a fucking idiot."

—

**October 21st, 1996**

The light flashes into Dean's eyes, leaving bright spots in his vision, on top of the dark spots his father gave him.

"I hate to say this, but it'll actually be helpful," Cas says, putting down the camera and taking the first-aid kit off the shelf.

He drags his chair close and like a professional, he begins cleaning the cut on Dean's cheekbone with a cotton wad. With all the trouble Dean's been getting into, in and out of home, Cas sure got enough practice to consider a medical career.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"You know what happened."

"I know but—"

"For the court?" Dean snorts. He's not very eager to go through the whole thing. But he'll have to; again and again. So he might as well say it all now, too, for the most important witness he has. "He came home drunk, as always." The scene replays in his head; the sounds, first, the bang of a slammed door, thundering of the footsteps. "He yelled that he knows what I did. That I'm ruining the family and if I don't like it, I can move the fuck out, but I won't take Sam away."

Cas's palm wraps around his in encouragement, a silent, _I'm here, you're safe_.

"He just smashed everything on his way and I tried to run, but he got to me and—" Dean's voice cracks, so he finishes with a wave of his free hand at the bruises, the blood.

"It'll be okay, Dean. He's gonna regret this."

"I—I've made a huge mistake, Cas."

"No. He did. And this is exactly why we have to finish what we started. So Sam can be safe with Bobby and you can finally leave."

Dean shakes his head; this isn't about the beating, it's not about him.

"He threatened _you_."

Cas cocks his head with a mocking smile. "He's not gonna touch me."

"He knows you persuaded me to report him. I won't put you at risk, not you. You have to leave for some time and—"

"Dean."

"I can't let you walk through the fire for me every fucking time."

"With you," Cas corrects. He cups Dean's chin, forcing him to look at him. "I'm sticking by your side, whether you like it or not."

Dean wants to protest, but can't with Cas's thumb brushing his bottom lip. As though mesmerized, he watches Cas's face come near, slowly, allowing Dean to pull back or push him away, but Dean does neither. He welcomes Cas's lips on his, lets them say everything Dean refuses to hear.

And everything Dean's longed to hear. That they're not just best friends, haven't been in a while. And that still, after all this time, they're stuck together for better or worse.

"Alright," Dean whispers when they part, their fingers entwined. "Let's get my asshole father out of our life, for good."


End file.
